


Chance Encounter

by analyticalTeleolinguist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analyticalTeleolinguist/pseuds/analyticalTeleolinguist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska and Terezi meet in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounter

The inside of the club is black as licorice, dark as pitch, with bursts of sour-sweet neon lights that pulse in time with the bass beat that thrums through your exoskeleton. The flashing lights make it hard to see, overstimulating you one moment then leaving you blind with ghosts of the lights like afterimages that confuse your senses. Observing the dance floor from your perch on a bar stool you get a vague sense of sweaty gyrating bodies, a depraved orgy of blood colors from rust red to navy blue that mixes with the lights until everything is a colorful pulsing mess.  
The door to the club slams open, letting in a breath of Earth-night that smells of shadows and gray city. It still feels uncomfortably odd to go out during the day and sleep at night, and even though the sun here is nothing compared to the harsh heat of Alternia, you still step outside hesitantly at midday. But humans are feeble and cannot see at all in the night, even one as bright and polluted with light as theirs is, so it is easier to become diurnal than to change them. Humans are also incredibly stubborn, you've discovered, so changing their habits is really not worth the fuss, especially since there is no danger in the day.  
The door is kicked shut again and you catch a warning whiff of blueberry before she strides over and sprawls across the stool next to you.  
"Heyyyyyyyy, Pyrope, what're you doin' in a dive like this with us mere mortals? Don't you have someplace to be, some important legislacerator shit to do?"  
She smirks, you can smell it, and leans into your space to dig her pointy chin into your shoulder when you don't reply. She stinks of blueberry. You shove her off of you none too gently, but she just grins wider and you bare your teeth at her in response, hissing. She turns to the bartender, who seems to know her well since with no discernible signal from her he sets down two shots of vodka in front of her. she slides one towards you, and you wrinkle your nose at it, pointedly wrapping your tongue around your straw and then slurping at your own drink. You give an exaggerated moan when the cherry-red liquid hits your tongue, and you notice that she seems to stare at your lips a little too long when you lick them before shaking her head and looking back up to meet your eyes.   
You've gotten pretty damn good at looking directly at people, and it always seems to freak them out. Well, besides Vriska. But if she was easy to bother there would be no fun to it an you wouldn't hate her for it nearly as much. You push the vodka back towards her, and Vriska shrugs.  
"Suit yourself, loser," she says, tossing back the liquor and signaling the bartender for more. So it's going to be one of those nights. Vriska isn't an alcoholic, not like the Roxy human, but she loves losing control a little too much and stomps down the razor's edge between adrenaline junkie and think-pan deficient idiot courting death. You don't like it when she gets drunk because it makes her so damn pathetic and you don't hate her as much as you want to. You steadfastly ignore her as she downs the next shot, slurping obscenely at your drink because you know it bothers her.  
Things get out of hand fairly quickly. Vriska never does anything half-assedly, and only drinks in multiples of eight, so soon she's draped completely over you, head lolling on your shoulder and her disgusting sour-blueberry-vodka breath rushing against your aural sponge as she talks. You're on the pleasant side of tipsy, half-listening to Vriska ramble about how vodka makes her more lucky and therefore she should have another eight shots, so you're caught off guard when she trails off mid-sentence and peels herself off of you to stand up. She staggers to her feet.  
"We should daaaaaaaance maybe it'll dislodge the stick you have stuck up your waste chute," she slurs, trying to slap your ass but missing. You look at her steadily for a few seconds, a blank expression on your face, then turn back to your drink. She hates it when you ignore her, she always has to be the center of attention. You expected more obnoxious whining that makes you want to shut her up (by kissing her or by knocking her unconscious, either works for you), but did not expect her scrawny gangly arms to wrap around you from behind and pull you off your stool. You stumble back and barely avoid falling over, growling as you spin out of her grasp and turn around, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and yanking her face close to yours so you can glare at her. She ignores your menacing expression and whines again, "c'mon, one dance you stuck-up bitch. Unless you're afraiiiiiiiid to dance. You do have zero dance moves. None of them."  
It's a transparent ploy but you give in anyway. "Fine, Spiderbitch."  
She grins wide and wolfish and you let her drag you into the middle of the dance floor. The lights were disorienting enough from the bar, but now Vriska and you are in the middle of the spiraling mess of colors. She slips her arms around the back of your neck and grinds up against you, filling your world with the repulsive scent of blueberries you hate so much. She is far too easy to focus on in the storm of lights that overwhelm your senses whenever you try to look at the rest of the dance floor.  
Vriska rests her head on your shoulder and almost immediately licks slyly up the side of your neck. When you make no protest, she bites the side of your neck sharply. You jolt, and your hips jump involuntarily. She smirks against your neck and you growl. She's not going to win. So you tangle your fingers in her hair and yank her head back, running your tongue across her exposed neck. You hiss. She tastes like blueberries. You hate blueberries, but you like making Vriska squirm and this works well. As you nibble at her neck you also slide your hand out of her hair and instead grab her by the horn. She flat out moans and you grin, pressing just slightly too hard on the base of the horn, scratching with your claws as Vriska's eyes roll back and her whole body shakes. When she slips her leg between yours you can feel her partially unsheathed bulge squirming inside her jeans and you hook your fingers in her belt loops, yanking her hips towards yours.  
You finally kiss her properly then, your tongue invading her mouth and drawing out another moan. Or that might be from the movements of your hand still wrapped around her horn. Whatever. She's loud (of course) but the music is louder, drowning out her moans unless you listen closely. Which you do. Seeing Vriska undone is the best because that is when you've beaten her. She tightens her arms around the back of your neck, crushing you mouths together as her hips thrust against your thigh. Your bulge is almost all the way unsheathed now, the friction against your underwear an infuriating tease. Vriska reeks of blueberries and sex, and you note with a certain vindictive pleasure that she's going to soak through her pants soon. Come to think of it, you'll probably do the same.  
So you step towards her, pushing her towards the back corner of the crowded dance floor. You push her up against the wall, her horns striking it before her back does, drawing out a gasp of pained pleasure that goes directly to your bulge. She moans and tries to kiss you but you go for her neck instead. She grabs you by the hips, pulling you towards her, and somehow manages to undo your pants enough to shove her hand inside, grabbing your bulge without any preamble and tugging. You thrust forward, moaning helplessly. She grins at you and you grin savagely back then press your palm hard against the crotch of her jeans, pushing and kneading. Her trapped bulge redoubles its lashing in response, and she lets out a strangled gasp, her head slamming back against the wall and her eyes closing tightly. When you do nothing else but continue to roughly touch her bulge through her jeans, she growls.  
"Stop fucking teasing, Terezi" she spits at you, and before you can respond she tightens her grip on your bulge, running her hand along it. You hump desperately at her hand, any retort you were going to make lost in inarticulate noises of pleasure. You can't tell if the thumping in your ears is your bloodpusher working overtime or the music or both, and you briefly remember that you're in a room full of people and sure the room is dark but they're not stupid- you quickly decide you don't care a bit when Vriska squeezes your bulge. You're practically holding yourself up by your grip on her horn at this point, not that she seems to mind in the slightest. You're ready to lose yourself completely in pleasure, never mind your pants, propriety, or your remaining dignity, when she suddenly stops and pulls her hand out of your pants. The sudden loss of stimulation almost hurts and you make a choked whining noise and thrust your hips frantically against hers. But that is nowhere near enough friction to make you come, even as close as you are, so you growl and shove her back against the wall.  
"See," Vriska snarks, "teasing isn't nice."  
You bite her neck hard to shut her up and yank her pants and underwear down far enough that her bulge squirms free, lashing against her stomach in search of friction, then wrapping around your wrist as you bury two fingers in her dripping nook. You left decent behind a long time ago, but these are whole new levels of indecency and frankly you don't give a fuck. Vriska shudders and keens and shoves herself further onto your hand, curling into you as much as your hand holding back her head will allow. You thrust your fingers in and out and soon have her moaning and trembling, her hips rolling against you and her bulge smearing blueberry slime across her stomach. You think about pulling away like she did, but you like her helpless and gasping like this far too much.  
You claim her mouth again and squeeze the base of her horn one more time before letting go. It's a bit awkward, but you manage to slide your hand behind her head and grab the other horn tightly right at the base. Vriska shakes and freezes and then bites you hard enough to make you bleed on the join between your shoulder and your neck to silence her choked cry as she comes. Genetic material spills out of her, her bulge thrashes and squeezes your wrist, her nook clenches around your fingers. Your bulge, entwined with itself in desperation, twitches. You thrust your hips against her until she comes back to reality and closes her hand once more around your bulge. It feels glorious and you moan, your bulge wrapping around her hand as she strokes it, sliding her hand from the base to the tip. It doesn't take long before you stiffen and curl around her hand on your bulge, mouth open but silent as your claws dig into her shoulders.  
Her jeans and yours are both stained a patchwork of teal and blue, and pulling the soaked material over your still-unsheathed bulge makes you jump and gasp, your bulge squirming slightly. You may have come but you aren't sated yet. You look at Vriska, who seems to be having a similar pants-related problem.  
"Continue this at my place?"  
"You're on," Vriska grins. She grabs your hand, still sticky with her genetic material, and drags you through the people on the dance floor and out the door into the night.


End file.
